


Some Deep-Seated Affection, Like an Ambrosiac Drunkenness

by Upupanyway



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dudes Being Bros, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, bc theyre best friends, best friends being dudes, bros sucking each other off, have no doubt about it, not much in the way of plot though, nothing too wild tho, oh it's porn, they like each other, very standard bonding behaviour, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 11:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18164447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway
Summary: Nelson and Murdock win a hard case, so they congratulate each other.





	Some Deep-Seated Affection, Like an Ambrosiac Drunkenness

**Author's Note:**

> Having a best friend is great. So is being in love. Sometimes they coincide, and it's this whole other beast.
> 
> Ft. Matt "leads with his face" Murdock, who can't see how in love he's being.

Okay. So this wasn’t what he had set out to do when the day began, but he’s _really_ not complaining. He’s literally called the Daredevil, and he’s always been into a novel thrill. And this was the best kind of thrill.

 

Okay, so there isn’t actually much new _information_ that his hands are telling him; it's a familiar softness, familiar heat, familiar shape that giggles beneath his fingers. But it _is_  a new and thrilling experience to have it under him, to be able to trace the pattern of hair on skin ( _God_ , he wants to see if he could feel the individual _pores,_ given enough time and focus ), to be able to run his lips wherever he wanted, where his own skin is yet more sensitive. And to be able to _taste_ the unexpected sweetness of their mingling bodies is nothing short of intoxicating.

 

Out of sheer impulse, he lets himself bite down on a particularly inviting chunk of flesh a few inches above a very naked hip.

 

“You’re such a cannibal,” Foggy teases, petting Matt’s hair adoringly.

 

“I can’t help it,” Matt replies with a grin, burying his face in that new favourite bit of belly. Saliva and a thin layer of sweat on warm skin. It tastes like a filthy promise. It leaves the man practically effervescent. He wants to laugh from a dry kind of joy. No humour, just pure affection. “You’re so sweet.” He says it with such little irony of any kind that it demands to be met with a groan. A strong but soft hand tilts his head upward.

 

There’s a moment, and a sigh. “You’re really lucky you’re pretty.” Matt leans up to kiss him, chaste and fleeting, on the corner of his mouth. It’s very coy. Matt imagines that it’s very sexy of him.

 

These are happy moments, and Matt intends to savour them. He suppresses the dread that it’s more than likely a one-night thing. More a result of adrenaline in the veins than a declaration of undying love.

 

Maybe it sort of is on Matt’s part, but Foggy didn’t have to know that. But he gets to have _this_ at the moment, and Matt is thinking less than he usually is (which is actually saying a lot.)

 

In his defense, he didn’t exactly fall into Foggy, dick first, landing them both in bed in a confused and romantic stupor. That doesn’t mean he planned any of this. He’ll have to decide later if it’s worth it. But they’ve been through worse and meaner disruptions between them. Matt has every confidence that this, _this_ , will not be the end of their friendship. So he’ll rationalize it better later when he’s alone in bed. After Foggy inevitably comes down from whatever bubble they’re in right now, and realizes how goddamn _weird_ this is before thanking him awkwardly, giving him a peck on the cheek, and then a handshake, and then ask him to leave with a “I’ll see you in the office, Matt.”

 

But that’ll come later, so he’ll worry about that later, when Foggy isn’t so under him and happy and willing to do _this_.

 

“Oooh, two whole compliments today, I must be having a lucky streak.”

 

“Har, har. As if you didn’t know already,” Foggy scoffs sardonically. He trails feather-light touches down a scarred but (thankfully) not currently bloody abdomen. The touch rounds his body and those glorious hands land heavily on his ass.

 

“No, no. Do tell me how brilliant I am. Spin an epic about my accomplishments. Immortalize my image in marble.”

 

Foggy takes his hands off in in response, crossing his arms. “You know what?" he exclaims in faux-exasperation. "I would like to rescind my previous comment about your herohood. Saving countless kids from a life of imminent exploitation is a mediocre accomplishment at best. Five out of ten.”

 

And the thing is, Foggy had taken just about half the case, and his apartment is still strewn with boxes of evidence to prove it, regardless of who was technically presenting the case. Matt could just tell Foggy that these comments would therefore also apply to him, but that also sounds too much like a compliment, and it’ll definitely come out far too adoring, so he bites his tongue.

 

“You said it on live TV, Foggy. I can hear you say it a hundred times a day if I wanted. The internet is a terrifying archive of data, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it.” Matt doesn't know what is face is doing, but it must be cheeky as hell because Foggy groans again.

 

“What was I supposed to say? My partner, who both tracked and indicted the guys behind the hundred-year-old underground child slave trade in New York is pretty decent at his job, I guess. But he's generally a menace, annoying as hell, and he doesn't kiss for play?”

 

The kiss happened just about 11 minutes ago, when the exhausted pair decided to head to Foggy's apartment and relax after a very stressful few months. They didn't even last a few steps into the apartment when Matt, loopy on a heady and happy feeling, pulled Foggy in for a very long hug. And when Foggy did pull away, he didn’t go very far. Matt could feel the presence, still warm and close, an absent hand playing with the buttons on his cuff. So he just leaned in, letting the other man meet him in the middle, if he wanted. Matt was rewarded with a long pause and a furtive peck that was all lips and no heat.

 

Dissatisfied, Matt simply lunged his face forward in what was more akin to a headbutt than a sweeping, romantic kiss.

 

After an eternity-long laugh at his expense, Foggy's talented mouth returned on his, and it was a little bit perfect.

 

It wasn't long before they landed in bed together, kissing lazy and sweet, helping each other slip out of too-constraining clothes. Business attire simply had no place on the bodies of people trying to be comfortable. If the boxers also came off in the confusion, who would have to know?

 

Matt honestly wouldn't mind staying on this cloud of languid exploration if it came down to it, but he's a busy man with places to be. So he travels lower and his lips find more things of interest. Hips, thighs, and that lovely little bend at the juncture. Right side and left, pointedly avoiding the middle. He would have to get to that later. He fights the rising laugh the longer he restrains himself, until Foggy's hand grabs him by the hair and yanks his face upward in a firm but loving jerk. And that’s way more than fine, if the way Matt’s blood buzzes is any indication.

 

“God you're such a tease.”

 

Suddenly, there's a shift of muscles around him and Matt lands on his back. He also finds a head full of soft hair buried at the crook of his neck as Foggy blows raspberries into his skin. So he lets out that bubbling laugh.

 

“Hey, stop! I'm ticklish, you jerk!”

 

“Well, you're also acting like a little brat, so I'm treating you like one.”

 

Matt scoffs. “No, you're not.” he says, and drags his best friend’s face down in a sloppy, wet kiss. When they part, he feels a little dazed so he sighs and sinks down, still memorizing the feeling of a bemused tongue on his as if he could ever get enough. There's a decisive quality to the body above him for a second before warm hands envelop his dick. He yelps, but only a little bit, and it's very dignified.

 

“No, I'm not, apparently.”

 

And as talented as Foggy is with his mouth, he’s at least as good with his hands, and Matt’s a little emotional from his years of longing being realized in the steady pump of confident hands on him, and he’s feeling entirely incoherent.

 

Foggy must sense this and, like the absolutely terrible friend he is, decides to talk to him. “C’mon buddy. What do you want? You gotta use your _words_ , Mr. fancy lawyer-man.”

 

Matt wants to narrow his eyes and cuss him out. Instead, his face goes slack, his head burying itself deeper into the pillows under him. His hands grasp for something, anything. And instead of something intelligent and sharp, all that comes out of his mouth is a filthy moan and the imperative not to stop.

 

And, again, Foggy decides to be the worst best friend in the world and does the one thing he was told not to.

 

“Hey!” Matt calls out, breathy and flushed, but indignant under it all. “What-why?”

 

Foggy laughs above him. It sounds good-natured despite how awful he’s actually being. “I don’t know, but I feel like you deserve it.”

 

“Dick.”

 

“Yeah, I got that, but what do you want me to do with it?”

 

And Matt fights to find his tongue again. Surely, Foggy doesn’t know what he’s asking. Matt would be willing to take anything and everything he could, but the (very small) sensible part of his brain tells him that it’s too much to quick. And really, all he wants is Foggy.

 

“I don’t know, whatever you want,” he manages, and his breath is still ragged around the edges. “Just, please, kiss me?” he’s feeling gooey and honest, and he wants to feel loved, loved by _Foggy_.

 

“You got it, pal.” But instead of those playful lips finding Matt’s, they give a chaste peck on the tip of his cock, and Matt moans at the implication. His head slumps into pillows again. He can practically feel the smirk on Foggy’s face, and Matt just feels himself flushing what must be a very vibrant shade of scarlet.

 

Matt had heard a great many rumours about that tongue throughout the years. He’d overheard it in their youth at school in hushed tones he wasn’t meant to hear. He’d heard it in various offices, sandwiched between other meaningless bits of gossip. He’d even heard it from Kirsten, more than a few times, when they were letting themselves be honest about their amorous explorations and desires. She and Foggy are good friends and sometimes prone to the celebratory drink. (Matt could hardly blame her for finding Foggy adorable and tempting. He hung on every word. Always has. It's been a long way past mild curiosity for a long time now.) So he knew, in a sense, what to expect. But it’s a whole new universe to experience. It’s a biblical sort of distinction, Matt thinks without meaning to, the difference between knowledge and _knowledge_. He doesn’t wonder if it’s cheesy to think of a human as divine because of a really good blowjob. He doesn’t decide that the answer is probably yes.

 

But Foggy is divine, he decides, just maybe not _divine_ , and he’s so, so hot when he lets Matt come in his welcoming mouth and makes neat work of swallowing without complaint, leaving Matt spent and sweaty and besotted.

 

He lets out a satisfied huff and shifts from between Matt’s legs to lay down beside him. Matt takes all of two dazed breaths before he musters enough courtesy to reach beyond the inches-wide expanse between them and palms Foggy’s (perfect) excited dick.

 

“You really don’t have to,” Foggy offers, shifting to face the other man, reaching over to comb Matt’s ruined hair with his hand. It’s a tender gesture that makes Matt’s heart swell with new resolve.

 

“But I’m gonna.” Matt has a few noted talents, and on the top of the list are endurance and perseverance. And right now, he really wants to hear what Foggy sounds like panting deep and heavy with the smell of his musk wrapping around them.

 

So he gets to work. And he’s decidedly not efficient. He’s a great many other things, though. Dextrous, patient, enthusiastic, and okay, a little cheeky when he wrestles a particularly blasphemous noise out of the other man. And it’s so worth it. He files away all the important information deep in his brain. The feeling of the other man filling his throat, the way he clenches around Matt’s fingers, the glorious symphony of his breathing and heartbeat and slapping skin that crescendos and culminates in a single, reverent “oh, fuck, Matty” before coming down slow and ragged.

 

They stay in the moment as long as they can before they start to feel gross. They take their time cleaning each other, stealing closed-mouth kisses when they feel the urge, and laughing when they’re compelled to do that, too. They make a meal out of leftovers from Foggy’s fridge, eating the same thing but stealing bites from each other’s plates anyway. They even brush their teeth together, unable to suppress giggles at the absurd sound of bristles on teeth, only magnified by each others' presence. It’s domestic and everything Matt now knows he wants if it’s with Foggy. Foggy, who is still his best friend, who doesn’t ask him to leave even after the sobering effects of time and soap have burned through the adrenaline and dopamine.

 

Eventually, they fall back into bed, both wearing something soft from Foggy’s drawers. They face each other on the bed, as if to bare their souls to each other in the private bubble they’ve created, where words won’t have to travel far from their lips for their meanings to be understood.

 

They’re sleepy and content, chatting idly about whatever comes to mind, becoming less coherent as the minutes tick by and leave them long past dark. It’s not even that late, only a few minutes past midnight, when Foggy yawns loudly.

 

“Hey, Matt?” he asks, and his heart falters a little, nervous. As if he hadn’t just painted a picture of a potential eternity that could be perfect if he chose to spend it with Matt. “If you stay until morning, I might make you breakfast.”

 

And Matt is overcome with the heatless desire again, raw longing, because it’s really not a sacrifice on his part. It’s like, the opposite of a sacrifice. “You don’t have to bribe me, Fogs. In fact, to show you how much you don’t have to bribe me, I’ll make _you_ breakfast.”

 

Foggy laughs, quiet but genuine. Matt can feel the warm air on his cheeks and decides he wants to feel nothing else for the rest of his life. The affection must twist his features into something silly because Foggy reaches out and strokes his cheek. “Deal. But if we’re making it a competition, I’ll have you know I’m gonna make your favourite eggs, oatmeal, _and_ I’m breaking out the french press and Guatemalan coffee beans.”

 

“God, marry me, why don’t you?” It’s supposed to be a quip but it’s so off the far end of affectionate, it’s just incriminating.

 

But again, he’s met with a good-natured laugh. “Alright, but maybe we should try dating a little first? I don’t know for absolute certain, but I think that’s what most people do.”

 

It’s about as far from a rejection as Matt could have hoped for. Matt’s pretty sure he’s got on a dopey smile again and his cheeks kind of hurt from smiling all day, but it’s so worth it. He grabs the hand still resting warm on his cheek and kisses the knuckles with as much sincerity as he can.

 

“I guess I can do that.” He kisses Foggy again, on the mouth this time, just because he can. “See you in the morning, buddy.”

 

“Mmhmm,” the other man replies, already halfway asleep. “Make me blueberry waffles.”

 

"Done."

**Author's Note:**

> it's mattfoggy week, and for the last spot i did porn (it's more like nsfw fluff lbr). (I'm early bc this was on my mind don't @ me i'm just not procrastinating)


End file.
